Repercussions
by Ivan Alias
Summary: A side-story to the FFH universe. The responses of the Imperium of Man upon discovering the 'Halo' network, and a sequel to 'The Conclave'.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I own nothing. The original ideas for Halo & WH40K belong to the makers of said games, and the FFH idea is Bombsquads'.

This is, however, a side-story to the main story of FFH. I am a writer for the FFH universe.

_Planet Equanim, Western sector of the known human galaxy._

Inquisitor Aberfeldy was not a very distinctive character. His wide nose and large eyes gave the impression that he was rather foolish, a notion which was cultivated by his awkward, gangly walk. He was often ignored, and for this he was thankful. Unlike some of his – he sneered at the thought – colleagues, he believed secrecy was needed in order to perform his work.

Right now, his irregular steps took him down a cramped street, bustling with busy pedestrians and stalls, rain dripping off the latter onto the former. A trickle of water went down his neck, causing him to shudder, then put his hood up against the inclement weather. Two Adept Arbites peace-keepers marched down the street, their heads held high with disdain at the town people. As they passed Aberfeldy, one deliberately stuck out his leg, catching the Inquisitor's leg. He stumbled, then glared at the two chuckling oafs as they continued down the street.

He breathed in through his nose, then out through his mouth, reciting the psalm of clarity in his head. To have acted rashly would have drawn attention to him, and that was the last thing he needed. He turned around and continued on his way, skirting along the occasional brown puddle and haggling market seller. He ducked his head as a horse-drawn cart rolled by, then stepped into a side street, putting his hood down as he did. The rain sporadically fell in little waterfalls, diverted by gutters and pipes onto the street, so the ground was relatively dry. He stopped at a wooden door, knocked twice, then entered.

A group of eyes looked up at him from a smoke-hazed room, then descended as they realised who it was. Aberfeldy took off his now-damp coat and draped it over a chair, drips falling of it like a metronome. He sat down on an old armchair placed next to an oil-heater and ran his hands through his hair wearily.

"Sir?"

Aberfeldy looked up from his seat at Thelonius. "Yes?"

"What happened?"

Aberfeldy sat back and sighed theatrically. "You don't want to know…"

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_Private liner _Emperor's Blessings_, property of Inquisitor Eriquehart Grigor, high orbit of Equanim._

The door slid open on rusted tracks, and Inquisitor Tyrus stepped through, his normally armoured form clad in a simple hooded robe. Inquisitor Grigor smiled slowly, wrinkles spreading across his hairless head expansively. Tyrus walked in, and stood in at the table Grigor was sitting at, purposely avoiding the offered seat.

"Hello Inquisitor Tyrus," Grigor began, "How are you? Would you like something to eat, to drink?" his hand hovered over the assorted candied fruits and selections of fine wines, a luxury on a space-faring liner, even a private one.

"I'll not eat nor drink." Tyrus said sharply, his jaw clenching in his usual manner.

"Nothing?" Grigor's face became a parody of a disappointed frown. "Something to smoke, then? I have some freshly imported ragweed cigars from Aggripona. How about a seat? You must be tired."

"I don't smoke, and I need no chair." Tyrus replied, his eye narrowing in frustration. "I came here to discuss one thing. We have no time to discuss pleasantries and material belongings."

_Monodominants are so predictable…_ Grigor thought, rolling his eyes in an exasperated fashion. "I suppose you wish to discuss about this 'Halo' network…?" He raised his goblet at Tyrus who nodded curtly. "What about it? We had voted as to what to do with it."

Tyrus glared at Grigor. "The vote is of no importance to the Inquisition. We all know this. There are more important things to consider about these _things_ than just using them for a trap."

"You disapprove of Eisenhorn's plan?"

"Eisenhorn is a fool." Tyrus snapped, "He believes that we can use these alien structures to rid ourselves of the Enemy Without? Absurd!"

Grigor's hand lazily traced the lip of his goblet as he pursed his purplish lips lazily, his mind quickly flitting from one possibility to the next. "What precisely do you mean?" He hazarded.

"Eisenhorn may be one of the most _respected_," Tyrus' tone became sneering in contempt, "Inquisitors, but his methods are unsound. He regularly contacts with anti-Imperium organisations. He employs mutants and aliens. Emperor have mercy, he even uses a Daemonhost as if it was a mere toy!"

"Are you seriously suggesting that Eisenhorn has become a _heretic_?" Grigor asked, his tone slightly disbelieving.

Tyrus looked uncomfortable. "I am not suggesting he is-" _Ah, he still stings from the failed accusations against Eisenhorn before,_ Grigor thought with a mild smirk, "-what I am saying is that Eisenhorn's methods may have blinded him from the truth behind these structures."

Grigor waved for Tyrus to go on.

Tyrus slowly tread the metal-plated floor of the deck and stood at the viewport. "Look at those stars," he said suddenly, "The first time I ever saw them, I was filled with wonder." His hand waved around of him as he searched for the next words. "Little jewels in the sky, winking at us poor wretches, tempting us with hidden desires… longings…" his hand curled into a fist. "I almost believed they were wondrous things too, until I finally learned the truth!" He turned away from the viewport violently. "Every one of those stars hides a threat, an alien, a heretic, a daemon… Each one holds a trick to bring the Imperium to its knees. Eisenhorn spends too long looking at the stars without remembering this fact. He is too naïve."

"What are you saying, Tyrus?"

"The Halo is an alien device, is it not?" Tyrus continued before Grigor could confirm it was. "There has been substantial evidence that it allows the ingress and egress of aliens to and from out galaxy. Not only is this an indication of a device designed to bring about the downfall of man, but it clearly dictates pure heresy against the Emperor, and no-one thinks this to be dangerous!"

"I don't recall the Emperor ever saying there were no humans outside of our galaxy…" Grigor admonished. "The Macharius campaigns clearly found species of man in areas beyond our previous reckoning-"

"The Emperor noted that humans had colonised the stars of our galaxy long before he came to power," Tyrus corrected. "Not once in all of his impeccable omnipotence did he state there were humans _outside_ of our galaxy. The Emperor is never wrong." He leaned on the table heavily. "This is clearly a trap!"

Grigor slowly ran his hands over his shaven head, feeling the stubble of his hair rasp against his palms. He looked up wearily at Tyrus. "Inquisitor Krypmann said the Adeptus Machanius had run their most thorough tests on the data from the Halo. They found no duplicity in it-"

"You would trust our fates in the hands of those idolaters?" Tyrus retorted. "Open your eyes, Grigor. They are blinded by their scientific methods and procedures. Faith is the route to truth, not science. Any creature advanced enough could fake such data, make us think there were humans elsewhere to be herded towards the Divinity of the Emperor and hence strike out against us when we least expected it!"

"Tyrus! Please!" Grigor held his hands up, trying to calm the Monodominant. "What precisely are you trying to say?"

"It is a well-known fact that all aliens hold nothing but contempt for humans," Tyrus whispered. "This could well be a plot, a most subtle and despicable plot by Xenos to obliterate us!"

"How?"

"Use the brains that the Emperor gave you, for once," Tyrus snapped. Grigor glared at the insult, "Aliens have been observed to have exited through one of these devices, hostile aliens who managed to slay devout followers of the Emperor. _Then_," Tyrus sneered contemptuously, "A mysterious piece of data was sent through, declaring it to be a cry of help for other humans to save them from this alien menace. Conveniently, there was also a data storage unit on the Halo which supported this distress signal. Am I the only one who sees something remotely unlikely in this?"

"Let us assume that you are."

"It seems to me, that this new Xenos has deliberately produced false data in order to weaken our defences. Think about it! We send in a contingent of men in accordance with Eisenhorn's plans, thinking that there will be some humans who will help them. Instead, an entire Xenos horde lies in wait for them, ready to destroy them as soon as they go through the Halo."

Grigor raised an eyebrow sceptically. "That seems rather unlikely."

"Does it?" Tyrus retorted. "They could sufficiently weaken our already strained forces and then strike out against us! They could even have allied with other aliens in this galaxy! The Tau and Eldar have already been through these devices – what makes you think that this… _Covenant_, have not already done the same before? We have seen their proficiency in battle. It would not seem unreasonable to think that they have already planted the seeds of our destruction in countless planets! We must act now! If only to preserve the Emperor, we must act, with either the blessings or the curses of the Inquisitorial court!"

Grigor paused and chewed the inside of his cheek slowly. He never could trust Tyrus before. There was a certain aura around the man of unthinking anger, of pure, inhumane fury. His too-tall stance, guttural voice and unsymmetrical face added to this feeling. And yet… and yet…

"What…" Grigor asked slowly, "do you propose we do?"

Tyrus smiled.

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_Planet Equanim_

Thelonius leaned back on the wooden chair, balancing his weight against the wall behind him, and whistled slowly. "Holy throne…"

Aberfeldy nodded solemnly. "This has potential to completely overthrow the Imperium. More so than the Thirteenth Crusade."

"What does that mean?" Styx asked from the dusty couch he was lying on.

"It means the Emperor himself could be under threat." Aberfeldy muttered.

"No," Styx retorted, sitting up. "What does 'potential' mean?"

"Potential means 'it can happen'."

Styx nodded slowly, and scratched the side of his head with one of his feet, causing the last figure in the room to stir uneasily. Styx ignored the gesture and continued to scratch, a slight smile on his face. Thelonius asked him to stop.

Styx pouted slightly, and began to drum his toes on the wooden floor in a deliberately slow fashion.

The other figure made a warding sign at Styx's malformed feet, then walked to the opposite wall and leaned against it stubbornly. Aberfeldy felt some sympathy towards the man as he looked upon the right side of the man's face, seeing his own distorted reflection in the metal surface of the bionic face that replaced the ex-soldiers' skin on his head. The man faced him, his other eye sunk deeply into his face, making him look more unstable.

"Do you have any thoughts, Ibrahim?"

The man shook his head slowly, then swallowed.

Styx looked at Aberfeldy. "So, what's the deal, boss?"

Aberfeldy glanced venomously at the mutant's hand-feet. _I'll keep him as long as he is useful_ he thought bitterly_ then I shall remember his way with me, yes I most certainly will._ He took a deep breath. "It seems to me that a device like this should not be able to spontaneously appear for no reason whatsoever." He got up off his chair and began pacing the squalid room. "I would think it pertinent to try and look up the annuals of the ancient crusades, see if they document anything similar to this Halo device."

"Hold on," Thelonius interrupted, "the chances of us finding a document on an alien device like this – if it hasn't already been destroyed – is unlikely. We'd need an army of scholars to look through all the annuals, and even then, it would take us years to go through every one of them."

Aberfeldy nodded gloomily, acknowledging the point made. "Regardless, I need more information before I do anything. I wouldn't like to think I had acted in haste."

"Why bother acting at all?" Styx drawled, lying back on the couch. "You said the conclave had made a decision concerning the Halo. Why do we need to bother in doing anything?"

"Because," Aberfeldy said through gritted teeth, "All the other Inquisitors will be performing their little conspiracies in order to change the decision in their favour." _You moronic imbecile._

"I take it that it would be fruitless asking for another Inquisitor if they found any information about Halo-like constructs in annuals they may have expected?" Thelonius saw Aberfeldy nod. "Thought not."

"So what we need…" Styx asked slowly, "Is a detailed depository of information on the Halo, in a small amount of time, and avoiding detection from other Inquisitors how would suspect us of subverting their plans…"

Aberfeldy nodded again, rolling his eyes wearily.

"What about the alien ship?"

Aberfeldy looked up.

"Y'know, the ship that was captured. You said that they told you it was in dry-dock around Mars. The Adeptus Mechanius would undoubtedly try and decipher any data they find in the ship, all we'd have to do is stroll in…"

"Stone me," Thelonius muttered, "the muties' got a point." Styx grinned slyly in response, and began to scratch his head with his foot again.

Aberfeldy nodded. "We'd need to be careful, though," he mused out loud, "we'd have to travel undercover, provide an travel alias for a freighter… and tread especially lightly around the Adeptus Mechanius… they are vicious serpents when stirred."

He turned to his retinue, a slight gleam in his eyes. "Gentlemen, I believe we have a job to do…"

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Six months passed.

All known Halo devices had been quarantined by a skeleton crew fleet, enough to delay enemy fleets long enough to call for reinforcements, but no enemy tried to use one.

Without the Tau and Eldar incursions into Imperium space, reinforcements could be supplied to chokehold systems, primarily Cadia and Armageddon, supplying the weary defenders with much-needed support. Slowly, but surely know that they had superiority in numbers, the Imperium began to beat back the enemies from these systems.

Multiple slash-and-burn campaigns drove the Feral Orks from the Armageddon jungles, where Marines from the Crimson Fists waited for them with steel and bullets, eager for scapegoats for the Rynn's world atrocity.

Multiple cults around the Eye of Terror had been hunted down by the Exorcists Chapter, burning heretics and anarchists alive before they could perform their nefarious deeds. Grey Knights aped their brethren from the White Scars Chapter by performing hit-and-run attacks on several daemon-infested ships and planets.

For the first time in a millennia, the Imperium was entering a time of stability.

And so, over the lead-dulled skies of Necromunda, the first ships of the Crusade of Enlightenment arranged, according to the wishes of the Inquisitors…

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_Battleship _Smite thine Enemy_, satellite-range orbit of Necromunda._

Commander Oran Mor looked over the deck of the Emperor-class battleship, _Smite thine Enemy_, and felt his chest swell with martial pride. Everywhere he looked, he saw preparation for a great crusade. Over there, men checked munitions and armour for the soldiers while officers led their men through military drills.

There was the sound of a thousand engines activating as Tech-Priests walked among the innumerable tanks of the Armoured Fists platoon, their servitors checking the efficiency of the vehicles. A nod from the leading Enginseer, and the engines were switched off.

A rating ran up to him, handing a data-slate to him from a ridiculously over-sized pile before running off, trying to ensure the whole tower didn't fall over.

He briefly scanned the data-slate, which displayed a list of munitions which had just been delivered. He switched it off and put it in his breast pocket, intending to read it later. Right now, he had had more important things to do.

"Ahem."

Mor looked around sharply at the sound, seeing a rather portly woman holding herself up arrogantly. He quickly ran his eyes over her. No medals, no rank… his suspicions grew. "What do you want?"

The woman glared at him in annoyance. "I'm here as a representative of Inquisitor Karamazov," she snapped angrily, holding out a small trinket on the end of a chain, "he wishes to know how the military arrangement is performing."

Mor peered at the swinging object, his eyes widening slowly as he took it in. A silver skull with a ruby eye, superimposed over a gothic capital 'I'… the sign of the Inquisition! He quickly stood to attention and saluted. "Yes Ma'am!" he said quickly, fear adding a haste to his words. "All desired platoons have reported back saying they can provide us with the troops requested. Already we have thirty legions arranged, and the remaining twenty are on their way here!"

The woman chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. "I see… what about the Adeptus Astartes? Have you heard any word from them?"

Mor swallowed fretfully, his adam's apple bobbing ridiculously. "We… uh… sent our request to the proposed Chapters, but it is not required of them to… reply… to…" He trailed off, feeling himself get smaller under the woman's glare.

The woman sighed. "I'm glad to see you are at least honest." She reached into a bag she held by her side, and handed him a thin, silver-lined data-slab. "You don't need to worry, Commander," she said, a condescending smile causing her eyes to narrow, "we received news of the Adeptus Astartes reinforcements. There's no need to worry about us executing you for gross misconduct." Another smile, this time showing white, crooked teeth. "We were just curious as to whether or not they responded to you."

Mor shook his head quickly, looking over the data-slab as quickly as he dared. He looked up, confusion etching his features into a frown. "I was under the impression, Ma'am, that there were going to be forces from certain chapters."

The woman shrugged. "Unfortunately, the Adeptus Astartes have unanimously voted against sending a large contingent of their forces on one crusade, so we have had to reach the quota of Space Marines by levying from more chapters then previously planned.

Mor scanned the list presented. "Blood Angels… Blood Ravens… Red Scorpions… The Imperial Fists… The Raven Guard… The Raptors…" he closed his eyes and groaned silently as he read the next Chapter. "The Marines Malevolent…" His eyes tracked the remainder of the list, and he looked at the last force listed in confusion. "A contingent of Deathwatch Marines?"

Again the woman shrugged. "We have had the servants of the Ordos Xenos inspect alien equipment. Coupled with their natural alien-fighting abilities, they seemed the perfect choice."

Mor shrugged in deference. "When will these forces arrive?" He asked politely.

"Soon." The woman started to walk off.

"What precisely is 'soon'?"

"You'll find out."

Mor sighed in annoyance as the woman vanished into the throng of Guardsmen and looked back at the data-slab. His finger lightly tapped against the Marines Malevolent as the drills continued around him, and his face twisted into a scowl.

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In high orbit over Mars, the Covenant vessel, _The Revelations_, was caged in the orbital stations of the Adeptus Mechanius. Ships flew around the cruiser like flies circling a corpse, depositing supplies and Xeno-scientists to crawl around in its insides. The Inquisitors had all but thrown a quarantine around the vessel, but supplies still had to be delivered through to the Tech-priests and Enginseers.

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_Xenos Analysis Orbital Station no. IV, high orbit of Mars._

Aberfeldy looked up at the sound of the boarding siren, then motioned for the rest of his retinue to hold onto something as the cargo container they had stowed away was deposited in the cargo hold of the Adeptus Mechanius orbital station which had temporarily stored _The Revelations_ in dry dock. There was the dull 'clank' sound a taste of burning tin as the container was magnetically locked onto the deck of the cargo hold. A few moments passed, the sound of unloading continuing around them. Slowly the noises filtered away, leaving them in silence. Minutes passed, leaving the retinue standing in darkness.

There was a high pitched burning sound, and a plasma-arc torch activated outside the container. The sound became deeper as the torch began to cut through the metal door separating the container from the hold. Thelonius slipped on a pair of darkened goggles as white-blue sparks sprayed into their hiding place.

The sound reached its original high pitch as the torch drew back, then deactivated. There was shuffling, then the make-shift door was pulled away from the hidden retinue.

The cutter-servitor stood back sporadically, its cutting arm lowered, making it look ridiculously over-sized compared to the rest of its body. Two gun-servitors stood slightly behind it, heavy bolters lowered at the group inside, and behind them stood Tech-priest Youngman.

"Greetings, Inquisitor Aberfeldy." the priest said in a synthetic voice. "I trust your trip was pleasant."

Aberfeldy pursed his lips in annoyance at the little quip Youngman made. "I was under the impression that your kind didn't allow jokes, Youngman."

"No joke was meant, Inquisitor Aberfeldy." The servitors backed off to do different tasks, accompanied by the hissing sound of their hydraulic limbs. "How may we be of service."

Aberfeldy and his gang walked out of the container, Thelonius still wearing his goggles and shuddering slightly, Ibrahim looking impassive and Styx covered with heavy robes, his mutations hidden from view.

"I desire to see what data you have extracted from the alien vessel," _No beating around the bush, eh?_ Youngman thought, "I am on a mission to retrieve extra data for the Holy Orders of the Emperor's Inquisition so that we may decide upon the appropriate course of action."

Youngman's digital stare seemed to harden. "I was under the impression that the data needed was retrieved by Inquisitor Krypmann over half a year ago." He paused, and linked himself up to the Mars mainframe. "Yes, my suspicions were correct. We have detailed files on Inquisitor Krypmann's visit."

"Yes, of course Inquisitor Krypmann retrieved information concerning these aliens," Aberfeldy replied, feeling a droplet of sweat trickle down a powdered temple. "However, it was decided that more data was required before any action was taken concerning this new Xenos."

Youngman gazed levelly at Aberfeldy. "It took you twenty-six weeks to decide you needed more information."

Aberfeldy squirmed slightly. "There was a schism in the Inquisitorial conclave – we needed several juries to decide that we needed more information to decide the appropriate action."

"Why did Inquisitor Krypmann not come here again." Youngman asked.

"Krypmann was needed to resolve a crisis concerning another Xenos upsurge," Aberfeldy lied, "I was the only Inquisitor not occupied, and so it was decided that I should go."

"Then why did you opt to travel discreetly."

Aberfledy raised his eyes in false exasperation _Damnation! If he asks me any more questions, he'll smoke me out!_ "Surely you of all people can appreciate the fact that the Inquisition is not a unified force, and that there are more unscrupulous forces who would try to stop me." He smiled insincerely, trying to quell his rising heart rate.

Youngman continued to stare, then nodded slowly. "Acceptable." He turned slowly, indicating that the group should follow. Aberfeldy looked at the rest of his group; Ibrahim impassive, Styx eager and Thelonius apprehensive.

He nodded at them, and followed the figure of the Tech-priest.

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_Captured Xenos ship, _The Revelations.

"The ship is similar in technological advancement as the Tau, except for a few discrepancies." Youngman explained. "They both depend upon plasma technology to power themselves, but this ship seems dependent on using plasma-based weaponry whereas the Tau may utilise other types of weapons, i.e. railgun technology and guided missiles."

"Also like the Tau, this ship is dependant on field technology to protect it from projectiles. It is not as heavily armoured – physically speaking – as one of our ships or one of the more crude Xenos species ships. The entire ship seems to be made of an ultra-dense alloy, almost as strong as adamantium, but it seems to be more malleable as you can see by the curved and rounded bulkheads and doors"

Aberfeldy walked along with Youngman, nodding but not actual listening to the man's monotone drone. Only Thelonius seemed to be interested in what the man had to say, as if he had to remember the facts later on for an exam.

"As you can see as we exit this door," Youngman continued "that we have entered what appears to be a hanger of sorts." An implant-studded arm gestured at the area around them. "Here we found multiple craft designed for space and air-combat. Most were destroyed in the ensuing battle, but some were preserved for analysis by our servitors." Youngman's hand swept across the men-machines tearing out and inspecting alien technology.

On and on Youngman droned on about the 'fascinating' alien metals, energy sources, magnetic fields and signals used for everyday shipboard tasks… Already Styx looked as if he was about to fall asleep, and Aberfeldy felt lethargy in his arms.

"Begging your pardon, Youngman," Aberfeldy started in a careful manner, "but we were sent by the Inquisition for a specific piece of information. As fascinating as all this data is…"

"What do you wish to see."

Aberfeldy pursed his lips. "I'd like to see if the aliens had any information concerning the 'Halo' network."

Youngman paused for a second, then slowly nodded. "Very well Inquisitor. I will show you the alien database."

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_Xenos languages/ciphers decoding chamber I._

"Here you will find the alien database we have managed to decipher so far." Youngman grated, leading the group into a large, circular room. Brainless docu-servitors were mindlessly translating alien texts over and over again. "Most information appears to be related to the heathen's false Gods, but there have been a few interesting nuggets of information. Access to the database is gained via these," Youngman indicated to a few screens on the wall, "terminals."

Aberfeldy walked up to one terminal and activated it. Harsh text in a garish green lit up his misshapen face and the information began to scroll at a mind-numbing pace.

"I will leave you to your research. Please contact me when you have finished your analysis." Youngman bowed as much as he could, then left the room.

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Youngman walked outside of the chamber, hearing the gear-shaped door grind into place, then lock. He nodded to himself, then linked to the Mars mainframe via his MIU.

_Access to Communication Net History requested; Identification code: Youngman, Priest order of third-class. Password: Deus ex Machina._

_**…Access granted…**_

_Request access to Guest; Inquisitor Kypmann's last messages._

_**…Access denied; message encrypted, Encryption Type: Classified – Dark Omega level required to access requested data files.**_

Youngman cursed silently, then tried a new tactic.

_Request access for listings for outgoing messages one hundred and eighty standard days ago._

_**…Access granted…**_

_**5,032,457 messages sent, list of messages Y/N?**_

_N._

_Identify messages sent with encrypted contents, encryption type classified with Dark Omega level classification._

_**Complying… Searching…**_

_**…**_

_**… A total of 1 message(s) was/were found.**_

_Display properties of message._

_**Complying…**_

_**Properties:**_

_ **Message Subject: Classified – Dark Omega level**_

_** To: Inquisitorial High Court, Terra, Segmentum Solar**_

_** From: Guest; Inquisitor Kypmann**_

_** Data Type: Text – Identified as High Gothic**_

_** Contents: Encrypted**_

_**Encryption Type: Classified – Dark Omega level**_

_Request identification code required to overcome Dark Omega classification_

_**Complying… Searching…**_

…

… **_Identification code needed to overcome Dark Omega classification is Inquisitor._**

Youngman paused, then thought again…

_Requesting Guest list one hundred and eighty standard days ago._

_**Complying… Searching…**_

…

… _**Guest list found.**_

_Find Inquisitor Krypmann profile._

_**Complying… Searching…**_

…

…_**Profile found.**_

_Display profile properties._

_**Complying…**_

_**Properties:**_

_**Identification No. of Profile: 0147823**_

_**Identification of Guest: Inquisitor Krypmann**_

_**Business of Guest: Information retrieval**_

**_ Password of Guest: &&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&_**

_**No. of messages sent by Guest: 1**_

_** Profile activity: Non-existent.**_

_Request Identification Code of Guest Profile: 0147823._

…_**Password required**_

_**Enter password Y/N?**_

_N._

_Request Password of Guest Profile: 0147823._

…_**Request denied, Password encrypted with nonadecimal-encryption code.**_

_Request nonadecimal-encryption key; Identification code: Youngman, Priest order of third-class. Password: Deus ex Machina._

_**Complying…**_

…

_**Encryption key granted.**_

Youngman smiled slightly underneath his hood.

_Un-encrypt password of Guest Profile: 0147823._

_**Complying…**_

…

_**Password of Guest Profile: 0147823 un-encrypted.**_

_Display password._

_**Password of Guest: 4785360.**_

_Request Identification Code of Guest Profile: 0147823._

…_**Password required**_

_**Enter password Y/N?**_

_Y._

_4785360._

_**Identification Code of Guest Profile: Inquisitor**_

_Copy Identification Code into blank data slateidentify as Inquisitorprofile. File under personal data of Tech-priest Youngman; Identification code: Youngman, Priest order of third-class. Password: Deus ex Machina._

_**Complying…**_

…

_**Copying complete.**_

_Request access to Guest; Inquisitor Kypmann's last messages._

…_**Access denied; message encrypted, Encryption Type: Classified – Dark Omega level required to access requested data files.**_

_Identify Encryption Type; Identification code: Inquisitor Krypmann, contents of file 'Inquisitorprofile'. Password: 4785360._

_**Dark Omega level classification overridden… complying…**_

…

_**Encryption type: nonadecimal-encryption code.**_

_Un-encrypt message._

_**Complying…**_

…

_**Message un-encrypted.**_

_Display._

_**Message Subject: Classified – Dark Omega level**_

_** To: Inquisitorial High Court, Terra, Segmentum Solar**_

_** From: Guest; Inquisitor Kypmann**_

_** Data Type: Text – Identified as High Gothic**_

_** Contents: Un-encrypted**_

_**Encryption Type: nonadecimal-encryption code.**_

_**Information retrieved from alien vessel sufficient for conclave to commence rulings concerning new Xenos threat to the Imperium, request instant reply, will leave Mars as soon as possible.**_

_Log-out of Communication Net History._

Youngman shuddered slightly as his MIU deactivated, and his senses adjusted to the reality among them. He thought over what he had just read, and remembered Aberfeldy's claim when they had met…

…_we needed several juries to decide that we needed more information to decide the appropriate action."_

He activated his MIU again.

_Request access to Xenos Analysis Orbital Station no. IV Security, Emergency authorisation…_


	2. II

Disclaimer: I own nothing of any sort or kind. Credit for the original idea goes to Bombsquad. All _original_ original ideas go to their respective owners.

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_Mars-class cruiser_ The Merciless Purge, _lead ship of the preliminary strike force of the Crusade of Enlightenment. Currently in warpspace._

Inquisitor Eriquehart Grigor looked out the transparent viewport at the swirling tempest of colours outside the ship and shuddered slightly at the sight. Patterns and shapes were created and destroyed in an instant, hues and shades of all colours assaulting his senses. A seething mass of potential power… with a conscience. And a loathing for mankind. Grigor hated warp travel. Every time he saw the warp, he felt something's eyes on him. Navigators would say it was psychosomatic, but Grigor knew something was wrong whenever he saw it. And he could see it now.

He pulled his eyes away slowly, as if he was afraid the space outside would cause mischief without him looking over it, and stared down at the data-slate on his desk.

On it was the plans Tyrus had drawn up. Grigor stared at it, and sighed in reluctance.

From the highly censored reports the Adeptus Mechanius had sent the Inquisition – Grigor smiled at the irony – Tyrus had found a way, using several scholars and xenotechnicians, in which the Halo network could be destroyed permanently. They gave their findings to Tyrus, for which he thanked them, paid them and then had them killed, as a precaution, of course.

The scientific methods and conclusions repeated themselves on the data-slate, its message read by uncaring eyes. Grigor deactivated the slate and turned to face the maelstrom again.

Pure, unaltered Chaos lay outside the ship. Only a few meters of titanium and adamantium separated him from safety and complete obliteration. He placed a hand on the viewport, and particles of colour formed a halo of blue smoke around his fingers.

"My duty is to the Emperor and the preservation of man," he said out loud, "any man who doubts me, challenge me now or nevermore." The words of Sebastian Thor rolled around the room, to the ears of an absent audience.

_What is our purpose?_ Grigor didn't say. _Our duty is help the poor, blind and simple men of the Imperium, who have no doubt nor care for the true reality of their existence._

His other hand started to rub the top of his head in a distracted fashion, a rasping sound coming from his fingers on his stubble. _They are the sheep and we the shepherds_ he thought miserably, _while we defend the sheep from the wolves and storms, we provide them shelter, food and care. They are our flock and we are to protect them._

_But even the most skilled shepherd fears the day when the sheep look at each other and the shepherds and think, 'Why them and not us?'_

_No matter how well-bred and trained the flock, there will always be one who does that, the doubter, the dissenter and the most dangerous of enemy; the one who thinks he is equal to us._

_What chance has a shepherd against an enemy who wears the same face as his flock? What can a shepherd do in the face of such audacity except perform the ultimate punishment?_

_All shepherds know that to keep a flock healthy, the sick, the malformed and the runts need to be culled. But to keep a flock a flock, the questioners are to be culled too. Only by doing this, can the shepherd protect his herd._

Grigor lay down on his bed and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the fluorescent lights that penetrated his eyelids and reflected themselves on his brain.

_My duty is to the Emperor and the preservation of man, of that there is no doubt, _Grigor thought lucidly, _but it is only us who can protect man from themselves. Curiosity and questions must be quashed, or they will try to stop us defending them. The learned man is our greatest threat. Let us deal with it before it can threaten us. Strike before our enemy knows we are at war with each other._

_I am the shepherd, the Imperium my flock, and the Halo the doubter… _Grigor glared at the lights tormenting his sleep. _Let no man doubt how willing I am to perform my duty…_

He looked back at the data-slate. _But am I willing to sacrifice my entire flock to defeat the doubter…?_

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_Xenos languages/ciphers decoding chamber I._

Aberfeldy leaned against the bulkhead and closed his eyes wearily. The harsh text and graphics from the screen had beaten out a relentless tattoo across his eyes, pounding the front of his skull with a painful drumming sensation. He looked across at the rest of his retinue, searching the alien database for information on the Halo. Thelonius had put on his goggles to provide some pretend protection. Styx was practically falling asleep at his station and Ibrahim was using his artificial eye absorb the data, his other eye red-raw and dry from the screen.

He turned his too-wide gaze to the servitor beside him and studied hi- _it_, he reminded himself hastily. He tilted his head and felt himself recoiling slightly in disgust. It was hard to believe that such a twisted being, so alien and vile… could have once been human.

The servitor turned its head to face Aberfeldy, but its dead eyes focused on nothing but air.

_To think… they _volunteered_ for this…_

"Hey!" It was Thelonius. "I think I've got something!"

The group immediately huddled around his terminal as a diagram appeared, displaying the unmistakable outline of the Halo.

Thelonius muttered under his breath, whistling nonsense tunes as data-text flowed across the screen in a stream of information: _…hallowed artefact was forever known as the Halo, and all would remember their power…, …but the great enemy came, their numbers drowning the light of the stars…, …was beaten back, but at great cost to the forgers of the Halos…, …only the kin of the Covenant are granted sublime use of these artefacts, none others…_

Thelonius, given permission from Aberfeldy in the form of a nod, pulled out a data-slate, plugged it into the terminal and began to record the data. Minutes passed in silence, only baited breath relieving the dull hum resonating throughout the room.

As soon as Thelonius pulled the slate away from the terminal, Aberfeldy walked over to the cog-door and pressed the nearby button to open it.

Nothing happened.

He tried it again.

It remained steadfastly shut.

"Thelonius?"

Thelonius scuttled over to the door panel and inspected with a critical eye. The front of the panel was removed in a moment, revealing a numberpad which was quickly typed upon. Still the door remained shut.

"That's queer…" Thelonius said slowly, stepping back from the portal. "That was an emergency code. It should've opened automatically with that…"

"Well, why didn't it?"

"Weerll…" Thelonius muttered, stroking his salt-and-pepper stubble with a gloved hand. "There are only two possible and plausible explanations. Either," he ticked off the point with a finger, "the door has lost all power, which seems quite unlikely as this is a primary research station orbiting Mars, or…" he paused.

"What?"

"or…" he continued, "the Tech-priests deliberately locked this door." He looked at Aberfeldy suspiciously. "Now, why would they do that?"

Aberfeldy felt the pinpricks of sweat coming out on his face. _Why would Youngman have any suspicions?_ He thought quickly, _he couldn't have realised for definite I was lying…_

"I'm quite sure there must be a perfectly reasonable explanation for this, Thelonius," Aberfeldy said, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself, "there's no need to jump to paranoid conclusions…"

The door activated and began to roll back.

"There we are…" Aberfeldy trailed off.

The two gun-servitors trod into the room as the group retreated slowly, their heavy bolters twitching like a nose sniffing for prey.

"What's the explanation-" Aberfeldy began, drawing himself up haughtily.

The servitors crouched and laser-sights rested upon his chest.

"-RUN!"

Shells flew around the room, noise deafened the group as they ran for shelter, muzzle-flares lit up the servitor's pallid skin. A hastily aimed round missed Styx as he leaped behind a terminal. The bolt smashed into a docu-servitor, detonated, and split it apart in a flash of sparks and fire. The two halves twitched spasmodically before curling up as if in pain.

Ibrahim shot back at the servitors, lasbolts sparking off the metal implants and burning grey skin, who responded by advancing slowly, providing covering fire as they did so. Fragments of metal showered the group as they huddled behind the scarce cover. Ibrahim fired another volley to the same effect.

Styx burst out from behind his shield, opening fire upon the two sentinels. Bullets ricocheted and buried into armour and flesh. One servitor keeled over in a cloud of oily smoke, sparks emitting from its chest erratically. The other returned fire on Styx, who promptly dived away from the bolter shells exploding around him.

Ibrahim struck while the servitor was looking away from him. Two knives slid into his hands silently, a faint blue sheen surrounding them. A couple of slashes, snake-like, and the servitor collapsed, blood pooling around its gaping stomach wound.

Abefeldy peered around from the bulkhead he had flattened himself against, drawing a stubber out from one of his holsters as he did so. A brief look around at his group to note they were ready; Styx with his two autopistols, Ibrahim with the lasrifle and Thelonius with his looted shotgun.

Aberfeldy cautiously sneaked past the two servitors and poked his head outside into the corridor.

A veritable hail of lasfire spattered the doorway as he leapt back into the room. An amplified voice resonated through the explosions:

"You have lied to the servants of the Machine-God and you have misplaced our trust. Prepare yourselves for death."

Styx grimaced as more gunfire splashed into the room. "So… no first offence punishment?"

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Youngman's smirk was hidden beneath his re-breather as he watched automated gun-turrets and servitors pour rounds onto Aberfeldy and his ilk. There was one thing that Youngman despised, and that was being lied to. A bolter shell exploded near the door, showering the corridor with pellets.

_A very fitting end,_ Youngman thought smugly.

**_…priority-type transmission from approaching craft…_**

Youngman rolled his eyes and drew his attention from the fire-fight in front of him.

_Transmit transmission._

He stood still for a moment as the message ran through his mind via his MIU, then clenched his jaw. His hands forming fists unconsciously, he slowly transmitted the stand-down order to his minions. A few seconds passed, and a massive energy spike was recorded by the internal sensors as a teleport lance engulfed the decoding chamber, removing all four traitors.

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Aberfeldy came to with a jolt, surprised that he came to at all. Tech-priests were not famed for their leniency, having invented memorable punishments including the horror-inducing 'Death-masking' punishment. However, Aberfeldy seemed to be all in one piece. The only minor aberration was that his limbs had been chained to a throne of sorts. He pulled at them, resulting in no give from the restraints.

There was a mild cough from in front of him. He looked up slowly at the figure sitting opposite from him across a mahogany table, and cringed.

It was Inquisitor Eisenhorn.

"Aberfeldy. So good to see you have awoken from your ordeal. I apologise for your current position-" Eisenhorn indicated the chains, "-but I felt that it was better than the alternative. Now do tell. What brought you to infiltrate this Covenant vessel – undercover as well – when it was made quite clear what was to happen from the Inquisitorial court?"

Aberfeldy swallowed nervously and felt the Inquisitor's probing gaze upon his face. "It was just for some reassu-"

"Don't lie to me."

Aberfeldy shuddered as he felt the sensation of another psyche across his mind. Undoubtedly Eisenhorn's.

"Well, sir…" Aberfeldy started slowly, "…I was not trying to subvert the court's ruling. This you must now from the start."

Eisenhorn nodded, then waved for him to continue.

"While I know that Inquisitor Krypmann is one of our most esteemed Xenos experts, I knew that he would have revealed data he thought to have been pertinent…" Aberfeldy trailed off, thinking of the phrasing of his next sentence. "…By going to the source of the data, I would be able to reach a more valid conclusion as to what would be the most sensible conclusion."

"You believe that Krypmann misled the court?"

"Be realistic, sir. Of course he did. And it would not be possible for an independent court to charge him on two counts. One, he would have hidden his tracks to well, and two, it would seem hypocritical to have made a decision concerning allegedly flawed data." Aberfeldy looked at Eisenhorn with a calculating expression. "I thought it was most unusual that you made such a sweeping plan on such flimsy evidence."

Eisenhorn shrugged vaguely. "To be frank, I knew something had to be done in order to make some sort of resolution. To have recessed the court would have resulted on multiple independent crusades to resolve the issue, which would have weakened us excessively. By making a conclusion, I lessened the chances of such crusades. However…" Eisenhorn's watery eyes thinned, "…that seems not to have completely rid the Inquisition of such rebellious attitudes. Which leads me back to my original question."

Aberfeldy nervously tilted his head from side to side. "I felt that we were not taking the correct course of action concerning the Covenant, hence my little escapade on Mars…" he trailed off, "…excuse me, but what happened on the space-station? The last thing I recalled was immanent death from the hands of the Tech-priests."

"A simple threat to their position and a hastily arranged teleport lance ensured your escape." Eisenhorn smiled patronisingly. "The Adeptus Mechanius are strong, but do not think they would ever risk an outright refusal against an Inquisitor, especially when the said Inquisitor has several cruisers to support his argument. Oh, your henchmen are in the ship's brig, where I am led to believe they are in…_ relative_ comfort. Continue."

"Well, we were allowed access into the alien's computer, and found something on the alien device. I didn't have time to analyse it thoroughly myself, but Thelonius copied the data into a data-slate…" Aberfeldy trailed off as he noticed Eisenhorn hold up a data-slate of depressing familiarity. "…Yes, that one."

"How fortunate. For you see, I have just been over-looking it myself. Most of it you need not bother yourself with..." Eisenhorn waved dismissively, but Aberfeldy noted the posture which indicated his was lying, "…it just reinforces the idea for the original plan. Now," Eisenhorn stared at Aberfeldy steadily, "I am left to think about what to do with you. On one hand, you purposely preformed an act which could have lead to the disobeying of an Inquisitorial court order. Punishment is, of course, death."

Aberfeldy swallowed.

"On the other hand, you have provided me with valuable information concerning the Halo network which I could not have achieved myself. For that, I am thankful."

Eisenhorn stood up and began to pace the room. "Your independence and ingenuity are very dangerous, Aberfeldy. Such qualities in a soldier would result in severe punishment from a commander. It would seem pertinent that I follow their example. However..." Eisenhorn's lips twitched, "…such individuals remind me somewhat of myself."

He placed his hands on Aberfedly's shoulders. "I am going to allow you to escape punishment, and, as a slight reward, allow you to join my fleet on our next journey."

"And what would that be?"

"Why none other than shadowing the Crusade of Enlightenment…"


	3. III

Disclaimer: I do not own anything of any sort or kind – original fiction ideas go to their respective owners, crossover idea goes to Bombsquad.

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The ring-world spun slowly, a slow pirouette in the dance of the cosmos, partnered with two blue suns, tingeing the surface with an aquamarine glare. Hidden from prying eyes by the two stars, the Halo hung in space, dormant and inactive, doing nothing but spinning in the never-ending midnight sunlight, asleep…

…but now, awoken.

_The Merciless Purge_ pointed it's prow at the alien world, like a dagger towards a heart. Escort ships swung below and around it as they scanned the system for threats, finding none.

Telepathic calls resounded throughout the Immaterium, their siren song beckoning the Crusade to the Halo, to its doom…

_Private conference room, _The Merciless Purge, _in orbit around Xenos Artifact 011057, Diabolis system_

Grigor chewed on a candied date lightly, a glass of Terra brandy untouched on the desk on front of him. He swallowed guiltily, reprimanding himself for unnecessary self-indulgence. Pleasures were not necessary here, he told himself, sipping the brandy and letting the taste envelop his senses. He shut his eyes, concentrating solely on the experience.

Footsteps, a dull chime, metal sliding on metal…

Grigor opened his eyes to the sight of Tyrus, and shuddered.

"It is time." Tyrus intoned silently. "Have you made peace with the Emperor?"

Grigor nodded, fingers tented and eyes on the armoured boots on the iron deck below him, trying to avoid the gaze filled with emotionless determination.

"Why do you hesitate, Grigor?"

Teeth masticated his lower lip as he forced himself to meet the Inquisitor's gaze. He composed himself.

"I fear our course may be… a reckless gambit."

A brief silence, then:

"You had plenty chances to protest beforehand. Why now?"

Grigor breathed in, then out. "I do not protest with your plan. If we can perform an overload loop throughout the Halo network using this junction Halo, then so be it. But do we have to sacrifice…"

"You knew from the start that the Crusade would be destroyed in performing this duty."

A leather-coated finger circled the table unconsciously, forming spirals in the dust. "Is there no alternative? I know that the teleportation device must be actived to perform the overload, but why can we not, say, send in a probe of sorts, claiming it to be a…"

Tyrus shifted his weight, his power armour grinding to accommodate the change in posture. "We have already taken too many risks shadowing this Crusade. If we influence the invasion in what could be considered a suspicious manner, we risk being detected. The fleet must be sacrificed for the Imperium's protection." Tyrus leaned down, his face level with Grigor's. "Do you have any misgivings about this?"

Grigor looked into Tyrus' eyes. Dark pupils retorted silently, looking through him. Grigor had heard the old tale that the eyes were the window to the soul, and Tyrus was no exception. When he looked at someone, he didn't see a person. He had no misgivings about killing people, because he believed the Emperor guided his hand. He would slaughter children without motive, burn schools to the ground and inflict misery on countless millions for the only reason that he believed they did not apply to his beliefs. Such reckless fanaticism, such unhinged hatred… what could be done against such inhuman hatred?

Grigor gazed back at the table, the iron bolts softer than Tyrus' gaze. "None, Tyrus."

"Then we shall proceed."

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_Destroyer _The Saviour of the Lost,_ orbiting secondary sun of Diabolis system._

Captain Grünweld walked across the bridge smartly, his polished boots ringing off the floor like cannon fire. The Acting-Captain jumped to his feet when he saw Grünweld and saluted, the rest of the bridge following suite. He dismissed the Acting-Captain and put the rest of the bridge at ease, then sat on the command-throne, feeling wires burrow into his MIU, linking him to the main ship controls.

While this ship was used primarily as a Destroyer, it had been called off recently in order to escort some Inquisitors. While Grünweld was glad to think that the Imperium was gradually fighting fewer wars, he did not think this was the most suitable job for a warship. Still… the Inquisition was still the Inquisition. He checked with the navigator and ship's physicist, checking the electromagnetic field from the binary stars was hiding them, then stared at the viewscreen, thinning his eyes against the fiery halo of the suns and instead concentrating on the small fleet around the alien device.

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_Private chamber 05_, The Saviour of the Lost.

Aberfeldy looked up at the sound of the door opening, and smiled upon seeing his rag-tag group enter, Thelonius's brow creased into its usual worry lines, Styx rubbing a fresh bruise on the side of his face and Ibrahim looking impassive as usual. He hastily apologised for their detainment, offering them the view rich foods and drinks on the table as a form of penitance. Styx began wolfing down spiced meats and mead, complaining about his mistreatment at the hands of the guards while Thelonius poured the largest, strongest spirit he could find. Ibrahim had nothing, leaning against the wall as if in a sulk.

The door opened again, this time allowing entrance to the regal figure of Eisenhorn, who waited for some acknowledgment from the motley crew in front of him. When it became apparent that only Aberfeldy was willing to show any respect to him, he quickly sat at the head of the table, tenting his fingers in front of his face.

A pause, then: "As you are no doubt aware," Eisenhorn cleared his throat loudly, "This ship is currently shadowing the Crusade of Light." He tapped a small button on the table, and a holographic schematic appeared, their ship circling one of the blue suns. "Currently we are hiding in the electromagnetic field of one of the stars in this system while the preliminary scout force of the Crusade inspects the area for any hostiles. They will of course, not notice any."

New shapes appeared in the fake system. "The Crusade will arrive soon after the preliminary check, and _The Merciless Purge_ will send ground-troops to the surface to activate the trans-dimensional teleporter." Coloured dots swarmed to the light-Halo. "Once the teleporter has been activated, the fleet will pass through the Halo, and into the nearest dimension we have been able to discern from the dimensional static."

"Hold on," Thelonius pointed an unsteady finger at the ceiling, "why exactly are we hiding behind this sun? Doesn't that seem, well, a little suspect?"

"A pertinent query, man. We are hidden from view because the Crusade has been given orders – orders that supersede all others – to treat any foreign ship emission as an enemy encounter. We do not want to risk our crusade at this moment, they must be at maximum vigilance. Don't worry about any other Imperial ship, all shipping in this area has been delayed."

"So…" Styx asked slowly, wording the words in his head. "If we are at risk of being smeared across the cosmos just by being here, then why _are_ we here?"

Eisenhorn raised an eyebrow, lines creasing his forehead expansively. "Being the suspicious person that I am, I wish to observe the Crusade's departure with my own two eyes. You," Eisenhorn indicated the entire group, "are here by fortuitous chance (Styx laughed hollowly at this point) and can watch this momentous occasion with me."

Thelonius shrugged. "As long as we don't get detected by the Crusade, sure. How long will it be before the Crusade reaches here?"

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_Xenos Analysis Orbital Station no. IV, high orbit of Mars._

Youngman cursed silently as the ship slowly disappeared into warp space, taking those unscrupulous liars away with it. He disconnected from the external sensors and stomped down the corridors, two lobotomized servitors in his cloaked wake.

His constitutional took him invariably to the observation deck which overlooked the alien craft. His metal hands clasped around the guardrail as he leaned forward, artificial eyes shifting and twisting in their sockets, prying and searching or an inefficiency he could vent his rage at. They had been within his grasp… and the damnable Inquisition snatched them away from him!

"The Imperium would be better off without them!" he snapped out loud, then quickly looked around to see if anyone heard him. Only the deafened servitors, standing on either side of him, were present. Youngman continued his self-pitying brooding.

His eyes slowly roamed the Xenos spaceship, when a thought entered his mind, fleetingly, but enough to catch his attention.

_Access to Mainframe Computer requested, Identification code; Youngman, Priest order of third-class. Password: Deus ex Machina._

_**Access granted.**_

_Search for data files containing words "new", "Xenos", "threat", "Halo"; search guidelines to be extended to all available databases outwith Mars._

_**Searching…**_

**_1,560 data files found, list files – query?_**

_No._

_Cross-search data files for military passwords or encryption._

_**Searching…**_

_**250 data files found, list files – query?**_

_Find most recent file._

_**…**_

_**File found, Identified as 'Crusade of Light, Final orders.'.**_

_Access file._

_**Access denied, insufficient clearance to access file.**_

Youngman paused, thinking quickly. Something was rotten in the state of the Imperium, and the Adeptus Mechanius were being used as pawns in a convoluted chess game. All he needed was to access this file, but he couldn't…

…But what if he didn't represent himself?

The thought nearly staggered him for a second. He had accessed Inquisitor-class pass codes, codes which superseded all others. He could create a new identification code… access the files…

_But what if he was caught?_

He would undoubtedly be executed. But the takings… No true member of the Adeptus Mechanius was wealthy if he knew nothing. This knowledge would be a kingly coin… a valuable piece of data which could put him on top of the entire Adeptus Mechanius cult.

And only he had the faintest inkling about it!

Slowly, surely, he activated the link-up to the database again.

_Make new Identification file._

_**Guest or permanent?**_

_Guest._

_**Please list details of Identification file.**_

_Name: Guest_

_Identification code: Skeletonkey(contents of Youngman/Personaldata/Inquisitorprofile)_

_**Creating…**_

_**Profile made.**_

Now Youngman had his head in the lion's mouth. He could only count on his reflexes to snatch himself to safety now…

_Log-out._

_**Tech-Priest Youngman has now logged out of Mainframe.**_

_Access to Mainframe requested, Identification code; Guest, Skeletonkey._

_**Welcome Guest.**_

_**What is needed?**_

_Search for data files containing words "new", "Xenos", "threat", "Halo"; search guidelines to be extended to all available databases outwith Mars. Search also for most recent military file concerning search words above._

_**Searching…**_

_**Search complete.**_

_Access file._

_**Double-checking clearance…**_

_**Access granted**._

Elsewhere in the station, a small, silent alarm was sounded as security programs realised that while no Inquisitor was present on the station, Inquisitor-class clearance codes were being used.

**_Final orders of the Crusade of Light:_**

_**Proceed towards enclosed coordinates – see file attached. Act with extreme caution. All unexpected ship-based energy emissions are to be treated as hostile enemy and should be dealt with accordingly.**_

_**When destination has been reached, Xeno-experts will activate the teleporter of the Halo device, which shall be used to get to these dimensional coordinates – see file attached. Once in new dimension, establish primary base, and await further orders.**_

_**Glory to the Emperor!**_

****Youngman quickly read the attached files, knowing that any second he would be detected…

So, these ships were on a new crusade concerning these Xenos… Aberfeldy had tricked him because of this ship… Youngman grimaced. He must have unwittingly help Aberfeldy in overthrowing these orders! Quickly, no time to lose…

_Request comm. line to coordinates – see attached file._

_**Nearest ship in proximity to coordinates – **_**The Merciless Purge.**

_Commence comm._

_Alert! Warning! Alert! Warning! There is a risk of outside influence in your mission! Repeat, enemy forces may try to subv-_

_**Comm. line interrupted – system shutdown initiated.**_

_**Service has been halted due to illegal identification code use.**_

_**Perpetrator located.**_

****The two servitors stepped back from Youngman as sentry guns swung down from the ceiling at him.

"Tech-priest Youngman," an artificial voice grated, "Surrender immediately."

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_Immaterium space, Flagship of the Crusade of Light, _Smite Thine Enemy.

Oran Mor jerked himself up from his seat on the bridge of the _Smite Thine Enemy_ as he heard his name being called. Blinking his eyes rapidly to lift the heavy weight of sleep from them, he heard the bridge telepath call his name from the awkward-looking cradle.

"Commander Mor."

"Yes, what is it?"

"There is an incoming transmission from Mars, set at a priority level, concerning fleet integrity."

Mor frowned slightly, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Play it."

Youngman's message flowed from the telepath's mouth, and Mor felt lethargy lift from him like a veil. Here was a problem worthy of his talents.

"Bring up a schematic of the system, open hailing channels to all ships in the Crusade." He turned to the navigator to his right. "How long before we leave the Immaterium?"

"About an hour."

His jaw shifted from side to side as he thought furiously. Images appeared in front of him as a hologram of the Diabolis system shimmered into view. The suns, the Halo and the scout force were displayed. Nothing else.

"Send a message to the scout force telling them to raise their void-shields and prepare for an ambush. Get the remaining ships in the Crusade to prepare their munitions." He peered at the schematic again, thinking.

"Sir, message has been received from the scout force, they report not detecting any ships in the sector."

Mor acknowledged the ratings' comment, and added it to the various situations running through his head. He looked at the positioning of the scout force compared to the remainder of the system. He chewed on his inner cheek and thought.

"Tell me. Would radiation given off from the suns mislead scanning?" Mor asked the nearest crewman. The moustachioed man paused, then said; "Normally most suns would not effect our sensors, but with young stars, such as the ones present in the system we are heading towards, large proportions of ultra-violet would deflect certain scans…"

"Good." Mor cut him off sharply, then looked at the schematic with renewed insight. _Now if I were attacking this position, where would I hide…_ His eyes scanned the bridge, looking but not seeing. _The secondary sun is currently two billion miles away, too far for a sudden strike…_ He looked at the other sun. _That one is closer, easier to go around… there's the roost…_

"Change course to heading…" Oran calculated it, reading out each digit as it came into his head "0…5…7…92…31. Hail our two sister ships, and have them prepare for battle and head to the same coordinates. The rest of the fleet is to come out of the Immaterium as planned." Ratings scurried around as each order was issued. Mor looked at the schematic one last time, then deactivated it.

"Prepare for war."

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_One hour later, the Diabolis system_.

With a silent scream, the Crusade of Light tore out of the Immaterium into real space, substituting the multi-coloured void of chaos for the monochromatic world of actual space. Accompanying the innumerable and just as varied human platoons were over three thousand Adeptus Astartes, all from differing chapters. Supporting the soldiers were tens of thousands of tanks. Supporting the ground troops were the hundreds of fighters, bombers, troop transport jets… all contained within the shells of the most awe-inspiring fleet ever assembled post-Golden Throne era.

As the crew of _The Saviour of the Lost _stared at the unfolding spectacle in front of them, they failed to realise that the crusade was not fully arranged. Also, that there were three new ships that had appeared directly behind them.

Two torpedoes from the Emperor-class battleship glided into the engine banks of the destroyer, annihilating them instantly. The remaining two capital ships delivered broadsides into vulnerable systems, disabling the ship before the crew had even realised what had happened to the engines.

Grünweld grabbed onto a handrail, pulling himself off of the floor as fires and sparks flew from nearly every panel. The navigator and telepath were both dead, their cribs making a bath from their blood. The vox-com crackled.

"This is Fleet Commander Oran Mor. Surrender your vessel and prepare to be boarded."

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Commander Mor's hand lazily swung through the air as the sound of Prokofiev's _Montagues and Capulets_ marched around his private quarters, the ominous sound of the violin section at full fortissimo. The door chimed, and he glared at it as if it were personally responsible for interrupting the music. He removed the arm from the gramaphone and opened the door.

Three men were pushed in, bruised and bloody. One was wearing an Imperial Navy uniform – he assumed him to be the captain. The other two were another story. Their clothing was not uniformed, but according to the interrogation results, they were the reason _The Saviour of the Lost_ was shadowing the fleet. A Storm Trooper shoved each man onto a seat, then stood back, his shotgun slung lazily across his shoulders.

Commander Mor smiled benevolently at the trio and gloated inwardly. The first win for the Crusade! He could already feel the troop's morale grow as the rumours spread throughout the fleet. Of course, the slight dampener to the feeling of elation was that the ship belonged to the Imperium. Primary examination of the ship found that no corruption to any shrine had occurred, so that ruled out the possibility of traitors… still, one had to get to the bottom of this, and Mor believed he had the key in front of him.

"So…" his voice was as thick as treacle, as sharp as vinegar, "I believe you have some explaining to do?"

The oldest of the three spoke up, a gash across his brow splitting as he protested. "I can assure you, Commander, the ship you attacked was not a threat to your fleet-"

"If that was the case," Mor interrupted, "then why were you present in an area clearly declared quarantined from the Imperium?"

"Why were you?" The youngest of all three retorted. Mor stared at him sullenly, then gestured at the Storm Trooper. The soldier responded by swinging the rest of the shotgun into the man's face, breaking the man's already-wide nose with a bloody crunch.

"Please, allow me to continue," he admonished, pointing a patronising finger at the reeling man. "I am asking the questions here." He sighed and sat back from the table. "Keep in mind gentlemen, I am actually not following my orders. My orders were to _destroy_ any foreign vessel found at our destination point. It was only the fact that your ship is – or rather, _was_ – an Imperium vessel that stopped me from annihilating you utterly. So, _revenons à ces moutons_, eh? Why were you here in the first place? Captain, do you have an answer?"

The uniformed man jumped at being addressed, and looked at the armoured guard behind him nervously. "I am afraid I cannot answer that, sir."

Mor stared at him sullenly, then made another gesture. The guard grabbed Grünweld's hand and broke his pinky. Grünweld screeched in reply. "Care to elaborate, Captain?"

"Che khannot hctell gou…" the youngest groaned out, trying to stem the blood from his nose. "As che doezn't nowe."

Mor looked at the elderly man with the split on his head. "Would you care to translate for your speech-impeded friend?"

"Aberfeldy is pointing out the fact that Captain Grünweld was unaware as to why his ship was ordered to transport the two of us to this system because any explanation of his orders were classified, even to him."

"Explain."

The man breathed in. "You are not going to believe me when I say this, but my friend and I are both Inquisitors-"

"You're right. I don't believe you."

"-who have been sent to oversee the teleportation of the Crusade of Light into a new dimension."

Commander Mor paused, then dismissed the guard. When the door closed behind him, he pointed at Eisenhorn accusingly. "How in the name of the seven circles of Hell do you know that? Only the highest-ranking of this fleet know about out mission-"

"I also know that your mission details for you to establish a base at a suitable point and wait for further orders. These orders will be to-"

"How do you know all this?"

Eisenhorn awkwardly reached into a jacket pocket, and threw a small circular trinket onto the wooden-top table. Mor felt his heart in his mouth. He had seen the same symbol all too recently. He swallowed, and felt blood drain from his face. The three men suddenly had expressions that imprisoned men rarely had. The look of impending redemption upon their captors. Mor swallowed again, and noted that his body from the chest down seemed to have lost all feeling.

"Don't worry, Commander." The elderly man said in a patronising tone. "I have no intention to report you to the Inquisition. Not just yet, anyway. However, you may redeem yourself in our eyes." He smiled smugly. "I'll leave it to you to interpret that comment as you will."

Five minutes, a pair of restraining keys, a bottle of wine, promises to release the crew of the destroyer, medical bandages and a selection of foods later…

"Much better, Commander Mor," Aberfeldy said lazily, his nose held in a bulky cast. "I'll be sure to commend your methods the next time I see your superior."

"Thank you, sir." Mor said quickly, sweat forming opaque pearls on his forhead.

"The schnitzel is especially good, too." Aberfeldy popped a piece of breaded veal in his mouth indulgently, washing it down with rich red wine. "Be sure to send my compliments to the chef."

"Of course, sir."

"Now," Eisenhorn leaned forward, leaning his elbows on the table indulgently. I believe it is my turn to ask a few questions." Mor nodded rapidly. "Firstly, how did you know we were behind the sun's electromagnetic field? I know that our esteemed Captain Grünweld had us perfectly hidden from any sensor."

"We received a message from Mars stating that we were in risk of being attacked by-"

"From Mars?" Grünweld interrupted, taking the cigar out from his mouth.

Aberfedly grimaced. "Damn that Youngman! How in the world he managed to track us down, I don't know…"

"Youngman?"

Aberfeldy waved his hand. "An old – hah – friend of sorts. We left on a bad foot, and methinks he informed Commander Mor of our little escapade as a form of revenge." He ground his teeth together. "When I get my hands on him…"

"I think he was seen to, sir," Mor added. "His message was cut off."

"Good."

"And so from this tip-off, I calculated your likely hiding point and struck when I knew you would be over-whelmed by the sight of the Crusade making the approach to the Halo…"

Eisenhorn pursed his lips and nodded. "How pertinent, my dear Commander. Talking of which, how is the Crusade getting on?"

Mor jumped in his seat, and looked at a data panel imbedded on the desk. "Well, uh, everything seems to be going to plan, the primary landing troops are preparing the teleportation spires…"

&

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_Xenos Artifact 011057._

Grigor looked up at the sound of Tyrus's armoured footsteps echoing around the circular room. He quickly looked over at the two soldiers working on the inverse-field projector linked into one of the spires. One noticed him looking at them, and nodded briefly before returning to the calibration of the device.

Tyrus stomped over to Grigor. "How is the mission progressing?"

Grigor wiped sweat off of his brow. "This appears to be the last inverse-field projector to be installed on the Ha- the Xenos artefact." He corrected himself quickly. "When the teleportation device reaches full charge – the point at which the Crusade will be inside undetermined temporal static – these projectors will activate, sending an energy feedback through all the Halos in the network, deactivating them entirely, preventing anymore teleportation from _any_ dimension." He looked over the device again, and shuddered slightly. "What will happen to the Crusade is unknown…"

"It is a worthy enough sacrifice." Tyrus intoned, crossing his arms across the exotic power armour. "Remember, 'the Blood of Martyrs is the Seed of the Imperium.'" Tyrus intoned solemnly, bowing his head in reverence as he recited the Ecclesiarchy scriptures.

"Quite." Grigor replied hollowly.

"Remember, we protect the Imperium and the Emperor." Tyrus left sharply, his tall form eclipsing the lights illuminating the room.

A red light on the device turned green, and a handful of runes shimmered into existence on the side of the projector. Grigor closed his eyes, and tried to slow his accelerating heart-rate.

"Sir? The final projector is active. I repeat, the final projector is active."

Grigor nodded his head, and excused the two soldiers. When they had left, he turned to the inverse-field projector and sighed despondently. His hand reached the vox-unit hastily discarded. "This is the commander of the ground troops," he intoned to the fleet. "Begin the final approach."

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The Crusade slowly turned towards the Halo, waiting for the appearance of the _Smite Thine Enemy_ and her two sister ships. The crew of _The Saviour of the Lost_ were allowed to leave the lead ship and be escorted to the nearest naval base by _The Merciless Purge_.

Aberfeldy looked at the arranged fleet from behind the view-port and smiled slightly. The rest of his retinue were sitting around the observation deck, chatting and complaining to the naval personnel. Eisenhorn walked up to Aberfeldy and acknowledged him with a nod. He too stared at the fleet about to go through the Halo and smiled.

"Sir?" Aberfeldy turned to see a young ensign in immaculate uniform saluting him nervously. Aberfeldy returned the salute awkwardly, having never preformed one before, but the ensign seemed to relax upon seeing acknowledgment.

"How can I help you, ensign?"

The ensign coughed nervously and scuffled her shoes against the metal deck. "There was a rumour that a couple of Inquisitors were being returned to this ship from the _Smite Thine Enemy._ I was just wondering if…"

"If we were the alleged Inquisitors?" The ensign nodded quickly. Aberfeldy gave him a condescending smile. Normally he would deny such a claim, but he was too tired to lie to the woman. "I can assure you that we are."

Instead of the usual response to this news, the woman frowned slightly in confusion.

"Is something wrong?"

"Oh, it's nothing sir. I was just assuming that the two Inquisitors would be the two that joined us on the flight to the Xenos-"

"Wait," Eisenhorn interrupted, echoing Aberfeldy's thoughts. "The two Inquisitors that _joined_ you on the flight here?"

"Yes sir. A bald-headed man and a tall, caucasian man with one eye and ear. I was assuming tha-"

"Did these men tell you their names?" Aberfeldy interrupted, feeling a slow burn of fear rise in his stomach.

"I'm afraid not sir. They just told us that they were required to oversee the calibration of the teleportation spires…" The ensign looked at the two men's face. "Is something the matter, sirs?"

"Open a channel to the _Smite Thine Enemy_," Eisenhorn ordered. "Tell them to abort the mission and pull back from the Halo immediately. Something is ami-"

"I'm sorry sir, but I can't do that. The Crusade is already going through the teleportation portal…" Aberfeldy followed the extended finger and saw with a sinking feeling that white, almost liquid, light was extending to the centre of the Halo, where the Crusade was already arranged.

There was a blinding flash of light, a light more powerful than any atomic weapon.

It dissipated.

The Halo was there. The Crusade was not.

Aberfeldy felt his heart in his throat. _Have we been betrayed? Who were those two men? Why were they here?..._

"Arrange a drop fleet to the Halo as soon as possible. Open a hailing frequency to the Crusade. Confirm their position!" Eisenhorn barked.

The vox-officer protested, then relented when he saw Eisenhorn's expression. The crew on the observation deck were deathly silent in the face of the two panicking Inquisitors.

A minute passed, two minutes… three…

The vox-officer held a headphone against his ear, then turned to the crew.

"Reports have just come from the bridge… The Crusade has sent a message saying they have reached their destination without err and are establishing their base. Mission successful."

All at once there was a flood of sounds as crewmen celebrated with whoops and cheers. Ale was broken out and a victory song quickly started. Eisenhorn looked at Aberfeldy knowingly and nodded.

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Grigor looked up at the sound of the door to the circular room opening and saw Eisenhorn and Aberfeldy enter, hands on their pistols. He raised his hands reluctantly but casually, showing he was unarmed. The two men lowered their guard, then noted the bound figure of Tyrus on the ground, knocked out.

Aberfeldy raised an eyebrow. "You managed to over-power _him?_"

"It wasn't easy." Grigor admitted with a grimace, examining the side of his hand with a wince. "Think he broke some of my ribs, but I'll survive."

Eisenhorn opened his mouth, but Grigor stopped him with a raised hand. "I know, I know. An explanation. Well, don't worry. I'll tell you exactly what happened."

So Grigor told them about Tyrus' plan. He told him about the meeting on his ship, the way in which Tyrus was convinced the Imperium would be threatened by foes innumerable. He showed them the last of the inverse-field projectors, now slightly hampered by the five bullet holes in burrowed into the interior, and explained what exactly would happen. He told them everything, then crossed his arms and stared at them defiantly.

The two men stared at him, silently agog, then stared at Tyrus. Aberfeldy whistled slowly. "Holy throne… He was really going to sacrifice…"

Grigor nodded.

"You mean he thought that…"

A nod.

"He was willing to…"

Nod.

Aberfeldy leaned against a wall, and slid to the floor, shaking slightly in relief. Eisenhorn breathed out loudly, then smiled. "Well, I'm glad to see you managed to apprehend this traitor before he managed to cause irreversible damage. He'll be put on trail soon enough." He offered a hand to Grigor. "You played a risky game of chance, pretending to agree with his ideals-"

"Pretend?" Grigor lifted himself off of the floor. "Whoever said I thought Tyrus was mistaken in thinking that this would result in an influx of new Xenos races?"

Aberfeldy looked up slowly, his forehead creasing. "What do you mean?"

Grigor smiled briskly. "I went along with Tyrus' plan because his ideals made sense. It seemed to me that Xenos would use this device as a gateway to our galaxy. I just went along to ensure he didn't do anything like destroy the Halo network."

"But if you thought the Halo would bring more Xenos, then…"

Grigor smiled enigmatically. "Do you remember the lesson taught at Istavaan IV?"

Eisenhorn nodded. "The viral bombing and the beginning of the Horus Heresy, but what does that have to…" His mouth dropped.

"Did not such a terrible event weed out those who were disloyal to the Emperor? What about the appearance of Sebastian Thor and the reformation of the Ecclesiarchy? Was that time not too heralded by a time of great oppression?"

Grigor walked between the two Inquisitors. "The Imperium of Man proves itself in times of oppression and pain. Too recently we have become weak-willed and tolerant. We need a new time of strife and pain." He smiled again. "What better opportunity than this?"

The door to the corridor opened and Grigor left, leaving the apprehended Tyrus with the two Inquisitors.

Aberfedly looked at Eisenhorn, who returned his gaze silently.

"I think…" Aberfeldy began, slowly, "…we have made a slight mistake…"

The End.


End file.
